FISH AND FISHING. 



41 



line and a big hook to bring them. They 

 fight like the devil." 



I went down to the same place that even- 

 ing, but it was no go. I think my bull 

 friend was sitting in the back room with 

 his jaw tied up, and would not answer. 



A JONAH. 

 Swinging his legs from the end of one of 

 the dilapidated fishing wharves of a Cape 

 Cod fishing town was a tall, lanky individ- 

 ual whose general appearance betokened 

 practiced neglect. It was the busy season, 

 and fishing smacks could be seen anchored 

 at favorable points along the coast, or drag- 

 ging their nets slowly before the wind. In- 

 shore were a few yawls and smaller boats, 

 and on the beach some old men were dig- 

 ging clams. Even the children seemed more 

 or less affected by the spirit of thrift, and 

 were searching for crabs and mussels, or 

 picking up bits of edible seaweed from 

 among the coarser varieties. 



Only the lanky individual on the wharf 

 was idle, and he was without even the cus- 

 tomary fishing pole of the wharf lounger 

 His legs dangled, and his eyes stared va- 

 cantly at nothing. Now and then a fisher- 

 man, or sailor, or clam digger crossed the 

 wharf, apparently unconscious of his pres- 

 ence. A visitor from the little hotel on the 

 hill looked at him curiously, and then 

 turned to an old man who was swinging 

 along with a basket of clams. 



"That big fellow seems to take life easier 

 .than the rest of you," the visitor said. "I've 

 noticed him there 3 days in succession. Isn't 

 he a little lazy?" 



"Wal, I dunno." The clam digger low- 

 ered his basket and wiped the trickling rivu- 

 lets of sweat from his leathery visage. "In 

 fust sight it might seem so, but someway I 

 never set Lem'l down as what ye might call 

 lazy. He's a Jonah." 

 "A what?" 



"A Jonah. Ain't ye never run acrost 

 none? They bring misfortin to whatever 

 they tech. Now that Lem'l was what ye 

 might call a bright boy; wa'nt afeared o' 

 work nor nothin', but he never seemed to 

 git on. When he was old 'nough for v'yagin' 

 Cap'n Knowles took him out with the fleet 

 on his own boat, mind ye ! But fish stopped 

 a bitin', and when they found he was a 

 Jonah they put Lem'l on the Saucy Ann, 

 Cap'n Barker. Then the Saucy Ann broke 

 luck an' they transferred him to the Crane, 

 Cap'n Bill Potter. But 'twant no sort o' 

 use. Wherever Lem'l was thar wa'nt no 

 fish. No matter if they'd been bitin' like all 

 p'ssest when he teched deck, arter that thar 

 wa'nt so much as a star fish brung on board. 

 "The end on't was, a boat came back spe- 

 cially to set him ashore. Since then Lem'l's 

 been sort o' dwindlin'. Folks would hire 

 him now an' agin for a spell, but soon's their 



luck turned, poor Lem'l had to go. Now 

 he can't git a job nowhar, of nobody." 



"Why, it is sheer superstition !" cried the 

 visitor indignantly. 



The old clam digger lifted his basket. 



"Mebbe, mebbe," he said laconically, "but 

 thar's Lem'l on the wharf, an' thar's the 

 boats tossing out yander, an' thar's the fish 

 in the sea. S'pose ye hire one o' the boats 

 an' Lem'l and try your luck." 



"But why doesn't he go away?" persisted 

 the visitor, as he followed the old man, who 

 began to swing laboriously up the street. 



The clam digger sniffed contemptuously. 



"Go 'way ! Huh ! He was borned an' 

 brung up here, an' folks that's borned an' 

 brung up here never go 'way. They can't." 



The visitor allowed the old man to swing 

 on, but as he turned toward his hotel on the 

 hill, he glanced back at the wharf. Lem'l 

 was sitting in exactly the same position, his 

 legs dangling above the water, and his eyes 

 still staring vacantly into space. 



F. H. Sweet, Palm Beach, Fla 



OUR BOOT LAKE TRIP. 



June 29th, 1 901, Chick, Puss, Kitty and 

 Porter left Chicago for a 3 weeks' trip 

 among the waters near Eagle River, Wis- 

 consin. June 30th we landed in Eagle 

 River, and were met at the station by Ed., 

 the head guide of the place. After a 10 

 mile drive through the woods we arrived 

 at Everetts in time for breakfast, and there 

 earned the proud title of the "Hungry 

 Four." 



The first week we spent fishing the lakes 

 in the vicinity, and in that time we had 

 enough good pike fishing to last a life- 

 time. Deer were numerous and could be 

 seen at almost any time down by the lake. 



Tuesday morning of the second week we 

 started for Boot lake, 20 miles from Eagle 

 River. We had a wagon loaded with 2 

 boats, our camp equipage, fishing tackle, 

 and the 2 laziest of the party, myself, Puss, 

 and Chick. Porter, Kitty and the guide 

 followed. Ed had promised to get us back 

 by water. After traveling all morning 

 through dense brush, the branches along 

 the narrow trail slapping us in the face, 

 we stopped for dinner in the middle of a 

 dense wood. We soon resumed our jour- 

 ney and at 5 o'clock we arrived within 100 

 yards of Boot lake, as near as we "could 

 get with the wagon. We carried boats, etc., 

 from the wagon to the lake and at our first 

 view of the lake saw a big buck on the 

 opposite shore. 



The next morning, after a plunge in the 

 lake we drew straws to see who should 

 strip and seine for minnows. Porter and 

 Puss, of course. I always did get the 

 worst end of things ! We soon had 2 

 buckets full of large suckers and shiner min- 

 nows and lost no time in getting out on 



